Underneath It All
by Laredo Grissom
Summary: She wears a mask and a suit of armor. Underneath it all, she hides her greatest fear. GS SWIP! SLOW WORK IN PROGRESS
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:  I do not own or gain any monies from the writing of this story.  All characters are owned by CBS.

A/N:  I had began this story last winter under a different title and had gotten up to chapter 14, but realized it was too much like another one and it wasn't going the way I really wanted it to.  So here is my 2nd attempt.  Hope you enjoy it.  Let me know your thoughts on it, whether good or bad.

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            The hot, muggy day continued to press heavily on the diverse forms of humanity as the sunlight slowly diminished behind the thick layer of clouds forming on the horizon.  Day became night and the residents of Las Vegas awaited release from the clouds crowding the night sky. 

            Sara Sidle arrived at the designated location. The neighborhood held chaos in its wake and Sara thought about what might be awaiting her at the scene.  The heat of the day mixed with the loss of her car's air-conditioning played havoc on her body.  Climbing out of her car, she stripped off her light mock turtle-neck, revealing the white tank top underneath.  It had already begun showing signs of perspiration.  She grabbed a towel from the trunk to wipe the sweat off her neck and chest.  She hastily threw the towel back in the trunk then grabbed her gear and headed inside.

            This was the only case tonight and everyone else had already arrived.  She'd overslept and couldn't seem to motivate herself to go to work –much less want to.  Her legs felt as if they were filled with lead as she plodded along.  Sleep had eluded her all week and yesterday had been her sixth consecutive day of dozing.  That morning, her body had finally rebelled and regained control.   Grissom needed her and she responded as always –on the ready.  Sara, although knowing this week would be hellish, hadn't prepared herself for the coming onslaught of nightmares, tremors and the ever-present fear that somehow seemed to multiply each year. 

            She showed her badge to the officers guarding the entrance and made her way into the house.  She expected a lot more of a mess but in the living room it appeared as if nothing had happened.  One of the officers motioned her on to the back of the house, which she guessed was where her coworkers were already hard at it.  She glanced around taking in everything as she strode into the kitchen.  Upon reaching the doorway, she stopped dead in her tracks.  

            GIL GRISSOM squatted before the body of a woman lying in front of an open refrigerator.  Milk had spilled on the floor.  Her clothes were in disarray and her pants had been removed.  His attention was drawn to the open doorway as he saw the woman who always seemed to pull his attention away from the work at hand, but when his gaze reached her face he saw a look of detachment from her surroundings. Approaching her with concern, he came to a halt as Nick walked in and smiled at her, nudging her as he went by.  Grissom noticed her lack of reaction as she stared at the woman on the floor.

            "Hey Grissom, it doesn't look like anything else has been touched in the rest of the house.  The fingerprints I found are probably all hers."  Nick's frowning expression pulled Grissom's attention from Sara as he tried to process what Nick had said.

            She stood, unmovable but Grissom was sure she heard everything happening around her but was not reacting to them.  She stooped to set her gear on the floor in the kitchen, her eyes never leaving the victim and the blood pooled around her lifeless body. She made no move to step closer or away from the scene.    

            Grissom had approached her and, after several attempts to get her attention, she finally looked at his face.  Their eyes made contact and yet Grissom had the feeling that Sara wasn't seeing him at all.  "Sara is something wrong?"  He moved to touch her arm but before he could Catherine walked up beside them.

            "Gris, there's no broken glass, no forced entry.  I'm beginning to wonder if the murderer wasn't somebody she knew."  Catherine spoke to Grissom but her eyes traveled back and forth between him and Sara.  "Nick didn't find anything in the bathroom or in the bedroom."

            With an eye still on Sara, he started to respond to Catherine, but when Sara bolted from the room he hastily said, "Keep looking."

            The hallway was dark and he tripped on something lying in his path.  Stooping to pick up the offending item, he found it and realized it was a Maglite –Sara's to be exact.  He turned it on and looked into the room to his left but saw no sign of her.  He turned to his right and did the same thing, this time finding Sara laying face down on the bedroom floor.  He crept closer, his concern increasing.  As he approached he saw where her eyes were looking –underneath the bed.

            He could feel his heart pounding at the thought that something was incredibly wrong with this picture.  Realizing his movements hadn't gained a reaction from her or even a shift in her position, he decided that it would be best not to disturb her at this point.  Silently, he knelt down on the floor and tilted his upper body and head downward to peer under the bed at whatever it was she was looking at.  Suddenly he lifted his head back up in astonishment and a growing feeling of fear.  He looked again and sure enough, just as before, the object he saw was actually there.

            Grissom blinked again as he glanced from the object then over to his CSI.  Sara remained still where she lay.  He reached forward but then he pulled back with the realization that he didn't have his gloves on.  He looked again at the object then back at her.  The last thing he wanted to do now was to leave her here, alone.  He sucked in his breath and held it in while he thought, and then when nothing came to him he let it out slowly.

            Suddenly, Sara moved.  She stood and waited for Grissom to do likewise.  Her voice low and edgy, she firmly stated, "Grissom, I'm off this case."  Without another word, she abruptly turned and walked out.

            Caught unawares, Grissom stood in silence as he watched her leave the bedroom.  His mouth opened slightly to speak, then just as quickly he shut it and scrambled after her.  When he reached the living room, he just glimpsed her as she left the house.  He turned back to the kitchen where activity still thrived and saw that she left all of her gear on the floor.

Catherine approached and asked, "Grissom, where have you been?"  Grissom, not sure what to say in response, decided not to disclose what had just happened except where to find the knife.  "Catherine, I believe the murder weapon is underneath the mattress in the main bedroom and stuck up into it.  Please retrieve it.  You, Nick and Warrick finish here.  Page me if you need me."  Retrieving Sara's gear, he walked out without any further comment, leaving an astonished Catherine in his wake.

            After depositing Sara's gear in the back of the Tahoe, Grissom jumped in the front seat, intending to follow her, when he realized he didn't know where she had gone.  He sat in his vehicle contemplating his next move or, more specifically, what Sara's had been.  Several options came to mind but none sounded viable.  He didn't know enough of Sara's habits to figure out her whereabouts.

            He chose first to drive by her apartment and see if she was there, if not, then he would try the lab.  Grissom's anxiety continued to rise as he drove.  He'd never seen her react as she did at the crime scene.  Even though he had some idea about what it was, he couldn't quite bring the thought to the fore in fear that he might be right.  _I'm not thinking about that unless I hear it from her directly.  _

Arriving at her complex and wending his way around the driveways, he reached her apartment but her car was not in the parking lot.  He floored the accelerator and headed for his next option.

SHE WALKED DETERMINEDLY through the quiet hallways, arms crossed in front of her chest and her head hung low with her hair hanging loosely shielding her face.  A shiver ran through her frame, the cold air conditioning contrasting against her heated skin.  Sara's only current case was the one that everyone else was currently out working on.  She couldn't do it.  Her mind rebelled with itself.  The protective side won out.  She couldn't go home –too dangerous.  Besides, Grissom was probably trying to locate her.  Damn him and his curiosity.  Why was it he would choose these times to notice her but when she really wanted him to, he was totally oblivious to her?

            It had been too hot outside but now her shivers were becoming worse.  Coffee would be a good start in warming her up.  She turned on her heel and headed back to the break room.  As she turned the corner she felt two strong hands grasp her shoulders, effectively halting her and keeping her from bowling over the other person.  She looked up into two flame-blue eyes.

            "Sara.  Are you alright?"  His grip hadn't slackened and her first instinct was to withdraw.  The events of the evening brought forth too many thoughts and memories, making defense her first option.  Tamping down her reaction, she nodded in reply.  Even though her instinct was to disengage herself, her emotions soon took over and she wanted nothing more than for him to hold her.  Her mind fought the feeling.  If she acquiesced to it, she'd soon find herself explaining all.

            "Are you sure?  You took off without any notice."

            "I'm fine.  I just can't deal with…" she hesitated, searching for the words.  "Another female victim."

            Grissom nodded in understanding, at least that's what she thought.  "I could understand that, Sara.  But…"

            "But what?  What isn't there to understand?  I can't deal with it tonight."

            "You knew where the murder weapon was."

            "I… I guessed Nick might have missed something," she winced at her words.  She'd lied.  Lied to Grissom.  Another voice in her head, however, said, _So__ what?  You don't have to explain yourself to anyone.  The words strengthened her resolve.  Her head lifted and she shrugged off his hands from her shoulders._

            He flinched.  She saw it but her stance didn't waver.  _He can't know.  He'll think the worst of me for what I did.  She sucked in a breath, holding it as she awaited the onslaught from him._

            His lips twitched then pressed together, pursing into a pucker.  It was a familiar sight to Sara.  He was thinking and thinking hard.  

            "Two can play this game, Sara."  He dipped his head then looked back at her with a sorrow in his eyes that cut her to the quick.  He held out his hand and Sara was unsure of his meaning.  Her eyes darted to it then back to his face –his hardened face.

            "Give me your gun and your ID badge."

            "What?"

            "You're on administrative leave until further notice."

            "You have got to be kidding."  She slumped for a moment, the unexpected direction of this conversation taking all of her energy.

            "Do I look like I'm kidding?  Either tell me the… truth… or hand over your gun."

            Her eyes blazed.  He straightened as if feeling the burn.  She unclipped her gun and her ID and instead of placing them in his hand, she slammed them down into his palm so that he almost dropped them.  "Fine, I needed some time off anyway."  She brushed past him but called back with anger lacing her words.  "Just remember, _you_ put me on leave.  Don't call me when you need help."

            Sara stormed out of the building, unaware of the lab techs and other co-workers who quickly moved out of her way as she approached then passed them by.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:  Thanks to my wonderful beta, Marlou.   Your insight into this story has been a great help.

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            It wasn't long before Grissom knew he wasn't going to accomplish anything that night.  He'd been working on the file sitting before him for the last hour when it should've only taken a quarter of that time.  He threw his glasses onto the desk then leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he got comfortable.

            Sara Sidle had been trouble since the first day he'd met her.  Trouble to him physically, mentally and most definitely emotionally.

            She'd nearly killed him on her way to his seminar when she rounded a corner in the hallway too fast in her attempt to make it on time, his files and body landing in a heap on the floor.  She'd confused the hell out of him when she hastily made the decision to quit grad school to become a CSI and the emotional aspect remained an ongoing problem.  He never knew when she would hit him with another invitation to dinner or whatever else she had in mind.  And although it was certainly flattering and something that, if he'd been a few years younger, he'd have jumped at the chance. Now… well he was going on forty-eight years of being alone.  She was just turning thirty-three –no, wait, she had just turned thirty-three.  Time certainly was flying by.

            Even though he knew that his feelings for the woman was something he had to put aside, try to ignore, it was becoming increasingly harder to do.  Her smile would light up his day, and her frown would worry him, making him think that he was the cause.  He had to face that.  Lately, he had been the reason.  He grimaced at the self-reflection.  He'd hurt her with his answer of no to her dinner invite but it had been rotten timing, several years in fact.

            During his evaluation of his relationship with Sara, Grissom's mind had tuned out everything around him.  He hadn't heard the knock on his door or the throat clearing by his senior CSI.  It wasn't until something flashed before his face that he realized he wasn't alone.  The hand disappeared quickly and he turned in his chair to follow it until he was looking into the face of Catherine Willows.  He groaned when he saw her expression –it was her 'caught you daydreaming' smile.

            "So, where were you this time?" she asked, the smile growing as she took the seat opposite his desk.

            "Not somewhere that I care to discuss with you," he said under his breath.  "Busy here, Catherine.  Is there something you need?," he asked as he put his glasses back on and tried to look as though he was delving back into the file's contents.  Diverting the conversation into less dangerous territory was his primary objective but he should've known better than to even try.

            "Hmm… doubt you'll be getting much of that done anyway, the way you were staring off.  Does this have anything to do with Sara and her disappearance from work tonight?  I mean, I think I saw her at the crime scene but then it might've just been my imagination.  And I know she was here at the lab long enough to have an argument with you."

            "And you would know how, since you weren't here?"  Grissom asked, peering over his glasses at her and trying to look stern.  She just blew it off.

            "Gil, you know as well as anyone that the gossip grapevine runs long and deep in the lab.  Everyone's talking about it.  It's understood that she handed you her gun and ID.  The question is, did she quit or did you suspend her or fire her?" she asked with a tinge of excitement in her voice.

            Grissom had to wonder if the latter wasn't something on her wish list.  He had to nip this in the bud while he had the chance.  "Catherine, have I ever been one to divulge private information?"  She shook her head and would've said something further but he cut her off.  "I don't recall that my position required me to fill you in on my decisions or the personal decisions concerning members of our team.  I would appreciate it if you would remember to curb that curiosity of yours in the future except in regard to investigations of the criminal kind."

            Bristling at the reprimand, Catherine stood in disbelief, "Gil, I was …"

            "I know Catherine, but you're in a senior position.  You've got to set the example."  Sighing heavily he sat back in his chair, entwining his fingers over his stomach.  "I don't know what's going on with Sara.  I'd appreciate it if you'd try to dilute the rumors rather than lending them credence."

            Her mouth was held agape as though she was too dumbstruck by his set down to speak.  He could only hope.

            "I didn't know you felt that way.  Is…"  Before he could cut her off this time she shook her head to indicate she wouldn't continue.  She began to leave his office but stopped as she reached the door and asked, "I actually came here to see if you'd heard from Nick?"

            "No.  In regard to the case?"

            "Yeah.  We found something other than the victim's blood on the knife."

            Grissom sat up in his chair, greatly interested.  He waited with abate breath but when she didn't continue, he asked, "What is it?"

            "Dried blood… old blood."  Their gazes met and held.  "It's human.  Greg's been given the samples to process."  She left him alone to digest that information.

            The thoughts congesting his brain were too much.  How did Sara know about the knife unless she'd seen the scene before?  If she'd seen the scene then there might be a serial killer at work.  Grissom shook his head.  They were going to have to search for more information to see if this had happened anywhere else.

            His mind wandered back to early in the night when he'd glimpsed her walking into the kitchen.  What he'd seen on her face jolted his heart.  Her eyes were glued to the victim but were strained.  The paleness of her flesh was in dark contrast to the shadows under her eyes.  His first thought at seeing her was that she had put in too much overtime again, but then he remembered that it had been well over a week since he put her on lab duties only.  She'd already maxed out on her limit.   Seven days of only lab duty and she looked like the walking dead.

            Grissom winced in pain as he felt the first twinge of a migraine beginning.  He hadn't had one for months, not since his surgery.  This was not the time for it to rear its ugly head.  He needed to speak with Sara, get more information.  But now was not the time for that either.  He needed to wait for Greg to spin his magic on the old blood sample.  He didn't want to assume anything but at this point he couldn't help putting his own spin into action as he considered what or who the blood was from.

            He couldn't resist the urge to pull out Sara's personnel file.  There might be something in it to give him a bigger clue as to her knowledge about the murder weapon.

            Feeling heavily weighed down, he rolled back in his chair to the file cabinet then rummaged in it until he found a neat and somewhat small file.  The name on it read –Sidle, Sara A. – Hire Date: 09/22/00.  He closed the cabinet, pushing himself from it with his foot to send him back to his desk.  He laid the file on top of all the other paperwork on his desk and opened it, pushing his glasses further up on his nose as he peered over the contents.  He skimmed over the sections he already knew, albeit some were things he always wondered about, such as why she quit grad school.

            There were no commendations listed or any special notes in regard to her work.  Sara did her work professionally and clean –she always dotted her i's and crossed her t's.  But then this wasn't unusual; like him, she wasn't one for public notice.  The best commendation for her was knowledge that she'd done her best and in putting the perpetrator away.  Although, that wasn't always necessarily enough.

            He noted on her criminal record that it was clean.  She kept her nose out of trouble.  While holding the file, he leaned back in his chair then stared off over the top of it.  He couldn't help thinking that Sara had no reason to get into any trouble –she didn't do anything, at least that he knew of from the small glimpses he'd been allowed to see into her life.  If it wasn't for her work, Sara would be a hermit.  The girl needed, as Nick had aptly quipped once to her, to get a life.

            His mind itched.  He rubbed the back of his neck attempting to rid himself of the feeling that the hairs on his neck were standing on end.  Something was missing here.  There was something missing and he'd be damned if he knew what it was.

            "Grissom."  A small voice drew him out of his reverie.  His eyes were not clear yet as he tried to switch from his thoughts of Sara to the uninvited interruption, his head swiveled toward the voice as if in slow motion.  It then dawned on him that the room had darkened slightly.  Greg had shut the door when he came in.

            "What have you got, Greg?" he asked when he saw the file held tentatively in the young lab tech's hands -noticeably shaking.

            Greg sank down into the chair that Catherine had vacated earlier.  He appeared to be trying to form his words carefully, almost like he was afraid to speak.  Mumbling, he softly said, "I wasn't sure if I should give these to Catherine or to you but because of the results I thought it best for you to see them first."  He handed the file over, but held it tightly so that Grissom fairly had to yank it out of his hands.  He was starting to feel the dread course through him.

            He looked over the results.  They told him that the dried blood belonged to a female and they matched someone In-house.  His eyes darted up to Greg.  The young man was nervous and if Grissom read him well enough, worried.  "Who, Greg?"

            "Sara."

            TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:  Another update on another story.  I'm on a roll… and chapter 9 of A Time for Love is already started.  Christmas Day perhaps?  We'll see.

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            Standing in the entryway of her kitchen, Sara looked over her tiny apartment which consisted of two rooms ­–the living and the bath.  After San Francisco, she couldn't bring herself to get anything larger.  Living in the hotel afterwards had given her a false sense of security.  She could see almost everything with a quick glance and never had to fear what may be lurking in other rooms.

            Shaking her head to clear it of the thoughts, she turned on her computer, and then she reached for the remote to turn the television on.  The apartment now had 'life' and Sara felt that she could move around in it comfortably.  She started picking up some papers she had strewn all over the twin-size bed, putting them in a neat pile on her desk, thinking she'd go through them later.

            The television was set to the news channel and she got drawn in with the anchorwoman's voice, retelling what little news they had on the crime scene and the victim.  The victim was in her mid-thirties and was a single mother.  Her son was reportedly staying at his father's.  The information startled her.  The scene had been too familiar for her not to recognize, but that piece of information didn't fit.  Sara wasn't a single mother.  It didn't make sense.

            A knock at the door surprised her and she let out a shriek.  Whoever was on the other side must have heard it because they knocked again quickly, this time much harder.  She went to the door and looked through the peephole.  Grissom's distorted face peered back at the door.  She had no idea what he was doing there and wasn't sure she wanted to find out.  She remained quiet hoping he'd just go away but instead he knocked again, and said, "Sara, I know you're there.  I heard you and then saw you looking out the peephole."

            Reluctantly she opened the door but only enough for her head to peek around the door.  "What do you want, Grissom? I'm busy."

            His puckered lips and frown indicated frustration.  It made her feel guilty and angry at the same time –guilt only fueling her anger more.  Why should she feel guilty?

            "We need to discuss what happened tonight… whether you want to or not."   His gaze fell to the floor as he continued, "And you're involved in this case… whether I like it or not."

            "Why would you think I'm involved?" she asked, her voice becoming a bit shaky.

            "May I come in, Sara?  I don't think we should be discussing this in the hallway."

            With a heavy sigh, she opened the door wider and allowed him to step inside.  Eyeing his back after he passed by, she felt as though her world was about to come crashing down around her.   "So, you didn't answer my question."

            Grissom glanced around the room much like he would a crime scene.  It was enough to put her on the defensive.  He drawled slowly, "No, I didn't."  Turning to face her, he asked, "Sara, have you ever been attacked… assaulted?"

            Sara's breath caught.  In all the time they'd known each other, and all the cases to which she'd reacted badly, he'd never once directly asked her that.  'Why now?'  She stared into his eyes, trying to read the intent in the question.  She'd lied once tonight, she wasn't going to do it again.  But she wasn't ready to divulge her biggest secret.  She needed a diversion or at the very least to know why he asked, something had to have made him ask this time.  Her eyes darted back and forth between his, then, "What do you have, Grissom?"

            "A knife, kitchen knife… with dried blood," he answered without hesitation.  "It has to be old, the victim hadn't been dead two hours."

            She turned and walked away from him, calling over her shoulder, "Would you like a drink, water, tea… maybe a soda?"

            "Sara."  His sigh resounded through the room.

            She walked to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water.  As she turned back to face Grissom,_ a hand rests on her shoulder.  Her heart thumps wildly against her breast, and a strangled cry emerges from deep within.  The room spins on its axis and she falls to the floor in a heap.  The hand reaches for her again and she attempts to back away from it, slipping as her stocking feet can't find a grip on the linoleum.  She clenches her eyes shut, attempting in a child like manner to hide from the intruder.  A voice reaches her ears over her screams, pulling her back to reality.  Her breathing, now heavy and ragged, grew shallow and she began to hyperventilate.  She felt a bag over her mouth, and a soothing voice encouraging her to breathe deeply into it. _

            After several breaths, she opened her eyes only to peer into the concerned eyes of her boss.  He silently sat beside her on the floor and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, shushing her all the while as she worked to regain her breathing.

            "I guess I got my answer," he said in a voice tinged with anguish. "Greg tested the blood, Sara.  It was an in-house match; he showed it only to me.  I won't be able to keep it secret for long."

            Sara wanted to look up at him but instead found herself sinking against him and his warmth.  Ironically, she'd been too warm before, now she shivered with cold.  Her hands clutched at his shirt, and then the tears began to fall.  "No, Grissom, don't.  I can't do it…not now.  I just can't."

            HE NEVER REPLIED, just pulled her closer and held her until she drifted off to sleep.  His fear was confirmed but never voiced.  When he felt she was in a deep enough sleep, he lifted her and carried her to her bed, spreading the throw over her.  He sat beside her for a while, watching her sleep.  His eyes traveled from her to the bed and then it dawned on him.  She had seen the knife, under her own bed, but the knife was at a new crime scene.  'Why was it here, in Las Vegas now?'  Slipping from the bed, he walked into the bathroom and pulled out his cell phone.

            "Willows." Catherine answered, distractedly.

            "Catherine, it's Grissom.  I need you–"

            She cut him off with a, "Where are you?"

            He hurried on, "I don't have time to explain.  I need you to check to see if there have been any similar crimes… women found in their kitchen… weapon missing–" 

            "Grissom, we have another one," she interrupted again.

            His eyes widened.  "What?"

            "There's another vic, and Gil… she looks a lot like Sara."

            "Greg gave you the results."  He'd have to have a long talk with the young man.

            "No, I found them when he went on break.  Listen, I'm at the scene now.  Want to meet me here?"

            Grissom glanced over at Sara.  Now was not a good time to leave her alone.  "No, you handle this.  Don't call me, though.  I'll call you in a few hours.  I'm not going to be back in and probably won't be in next shift."

            "Are you with Sara?" she asked.

            "Yes.  And no, she hasn't told me what happened.  I'll talk to you later.  Bye."  He flipped off his phone and stood staring at Sara.  The urge to just hold her and protect grew within him, but he didn't want to wake her.  Besides, she may not appreciate him sleeping with her in her bed.  It might just frighten her more.  He closed down the computer then switched off the tv.  His mind was filled with too many thoughts to allow his attention to be captured by it.  He'd finally gotten a small glimmer into what made Sara Sidle tick.  And what he'd seen scared him.

            He settled into the recliner near her bed then glanced out the window when he saw a flash of light.  Seconds later, he heard the roll of thunder above.  The ominous sound certainly fit the occasion.  Another barrage of thunder rocked the building and he saw a shudder run through Sara's frame.  He never would have suspected Sara to be afraid of storms, but perhaps it wasn't the storm at all that had made her flinch.  No.  He knew it wasn't.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:  Thank you to wp1fan and Marlou for your help with getting this long awaited chapter out.  And three words to Wiccamage, "Here you go."

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            The sound of a bolt of lightning hitting something within the city reverberated throughout the apartment.  The sound scared a sleeping Sara into a sitting position, and a scream emanated from deep within.  Two strong arms cradled her racking body as she sobbed uncontrollably.  The fact that two male arms were around her somehow didn't frighten her.

            "Shh.  It's alright.  I'm here.  It was just a bad dream," Grissom soothed.

            Darting her eyes toward the window as another flash of lightning filled the room, Sara could see the rain pouring down outside.  They finally were getting some relief from the heat of the last several days.  Her hand instinctively grasped Grissom's hand, and she leaned back into his comforting embrace.  Her weight pushed him backward so that he was lying against the headboard, his back supported by her pillows.

            They lay in this position for quite some time.  Neither speaking, they just watched the rain pound on her window until falling asleep once again.

            Sara shifted beneath his arms and tried to extricate herself from them without waking him.  He mumbled something in his sleep, but didn't wake.  Retrieving some clean clothes, she retreated into the bathroom.  Turning the water on in the bathtub, she let it warm up before she flipped on the shower head, then proceeded to strip down and ease in.  The spray of the water soothed her tired muscles but awakened her senses.  Her hand pressed against the wall, and she leaned on her arm as the water cascaded down her back.  Normally a shower would take her no more than five minutes, but she lingered within the calming spray.

            Finally, her skin a bright pink from the hot water, she decided to get out, wasting no time drying off and getting dressed.  There was a man in the other room, who she estimated wouldn't be sleeping long.  It felt odd having him in her apartment.  Except for the few times that Hank had been there, no other man had been, not since San Francisco.   She wrapped her hair up in the towel then stepped out into the darkened room.  Looking to the bed, she expected to see Grissom.  She didn't but did catch a movement to her right near the window when she saw the curtain move.  She gasped until his voice reassured her that it was Grissom.  With a visible shake, she attempted to regain her composure.

            Too many times, now, she'd given him evidence about her past.  Having hoped he'd left, she'd come out of the bathroom half expecting that he had.  But as he turned from staring out the window to face her, she knew he'd surely not be leaving her apartment any time soon.  Not until he got the information he'd came for.

            THEY REMAINED STARING at each other through the shadows.  He sighed then leaned against the window and stared out at the pouring rain.  The moment was finally broken as Grissom pushed forward with his questioning.  "How did your blood get on that knife, Sara?"

            He heard, rather than saw, her sit on the bed.  She faced away from him now as he turned back.  He wanted to go to her, comfort her and cradle her once again, but he knew that would get him no further to the knowledge he sought.  He remained firm and stayed in his present position, not moving.

            Waiting for several moments, a heartbeat away from asking again, he saw her shuffle, sitting on one leg and holding the other by the knee against her chest.  Her head drooped and then she mumbled, "He stabbed me with it."

            His heart lurched.  He'd been expecting it, and yet it still came as a surprise.  He licked his lips and ran the side of his index finger along his bottom lip, his eyes never straying from her.  He formulated his next question carefully.  Getting a direct answer wasn't as easy as it looked.  And God knew, he wanted a direct answer.  He needed it.

            "Did he assault you sexually?"  His voice quavered as he asked.  Fearing her reply, he looked out the window again.

            Again, he was startled by her answer; he thought he'd have to drag it out of her.  Still, he might have to.  It was short and to the point.

            "Yes," she whispered.

            His hands, at his side, clenched into fists.  A shot of pain coursed through him, ending at his heart.  Somehow, his strong-willed and stubborn Sara had let her guard down and been made a victim.  He fought against his first inclination to go to her.  He needed to understand and he couldn't do that if he couldn't get her to talk.  He needed to know when it happened.  When had this taken place?   Where had it happened?

            He thought of all the times they'd talked while she was in San Francisco, but he couldn't glean any information from those instances to indicate a timeline for him.  And if it had occurred in Las Vegas, he was sure he'd have known it.  He hated that he had to ask, had to be the one interrogating her like this.  Instead, he wanted to be the one to sit next to her, holding her hand or holding her against his side, as she recalled her darkest fears.

            He pushed away from the window only to face it directly and place his hands on the sill, propping himself up by his arms, his body no longer braced against the window.  He took a deep breath.

            "Whe…" He stumbled on his words.  Clearing his throat, he continued, "Where did this happen, Sara?"

            "In my apartment," was her quick reply.

            He shook his head.  He knew he hadn't asked it properly as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  He bowed his head in frustration and sighed.  "Sara, which apartment?  Where?"  His eyes closed as he listened intently to her answers.

            "In San Francisco," she spit out hastily.

            "When?" he fired back just quickly.

            "Four years ago… yesterday."  The words, strained and pinched, drained from her mouth as a slowly dying fountain.

            Examining and calculating the evidence, it translated to a time when he'd needed her.  And she'd been more than ready to come to his aid.  He'd never asked her how she'd been able to drop everything and come to Las Vegas so quickly at his request.  But she had.  Now he knew why, but he still didn't know how.

            He worked the information over and tried to formulate his own theory.  It was impossible.  If she'd been stabbed, she would've needed medical attention.  When he'd taken his first glimpse of her as she arrived in Las Vegas, it wasn't as a woman who'd been ravaged and seriously hurt.  She'd been a breath of fresh air.  He looked back on it as if from a distance.  She'd been smiling and carefree.  But now, reflecting on that image when she first arrived in Las Vegas, he realized her body language was not as it first appeared.  She was… holding herself.  At the time, her arm, wrapped about her midsection, reminded him of someone trying to hold it all together.  But he'd passed that off as just a relaxed stance.  She had appeared relaxed, he told himself.

            Shaking his head at the image, he opened his eyes and looked out at the rain crashing against the window.  At that moment, he wished the rain could just wash all of this away.  "It would've been only a week later that you arrived in Las Vegas.  How could that be?  You should've been mentally and physically drained."

            In the minutes that he had been attempting to put the puzzle together, he'd missed a subtle change in her.  It wasn't until his last words that he heard the soft sniffle.  It drew him closer to her.  He stepped cautiously, not wishing to destroy the trust she'd shown him within the last half hour.  She cast a quick glance in his direction.  Noting his approach, she attempted to mask her tears.

            It was a heart wrenching sight for Grissom.  He carefully sat next to her on the bed.  The urge to protect her had grown to cosmic proportions and it took every ounce of strength he had to not crush her to him in a fierce hug.  Instead, he gently touched her far shoulder and tugged her closer to him.  At first she wasn't going to give way, but then she loosened up and relaxed against him.  If he was patient, he knew he'd get the complete story.


	5. Chapter 5

            A half hour later, Sara straightened herself out from the warmth he sheltered her in.  It was time for her to face reality.  As she untangled carefully from his arms, she could see he studied her beneath his lowered lashes.  "We need to talk."

            Grissom drew in a breath.  He hadn't wanted to push her, but if they were ever going to solve this case it would help if she told him what she knew.  Instead of breaking the moment, he sat up straighter and nodded, giving her full command.  He watched as she shifted, attempting to get comfortable, but then she stood and shakily walked across the room.

            "I," she hesitated and bit her bottom lip as she took a seat on one of the stools sitting at the island counter.  "Please let me say everything or else I won't get it out."

            "Okay."

            Clasping her hands in front of her, she began, "It was a very cold and foggy night.  I had just gotten off work and arrived home.  My first thought… I can't believe how stupid I had been.  My first thought was to get something to drink, not even bothering to take my coat off.  I pulled out a bottle of water from the fridge and opened it right there.  After a couple of long gulps, I started to feel… off… you know, kind of drowsy."  Her eyes drifted off and Grissom could see that she was seeing it all again.  "Then I seemed to lose the feeling in my hands.  I remember watching the bottle fall to the floor and then –so did I."

            "Sara ­–"

            "No, don't."  She stood abruptly, almost angrily and walked to the windows to stare out at the now gently falling rain.  "I have to get this out.  I've never told anyone before."  She glanced back at him to emphasize her statement.  "No one."

            Her fingertips gently pressed against the window pane and she continued, "I remember hearing someone then.  The footsteps came closer –in a rush.  He stood over me at that point, the knife held firmly in his hand as if he was about to stab me."  Her arms crossed in front of her and she gripped them firmly, protecting herself.  "All I could think was that I was going to die."  A resounding huff emitted from her lips and she turned a cynical eye towards Grissom.  "I was wrong… it was worse."

            Grissom couldn't remain still any longer.  He crossed the room swiftly and pulled her into a tight embrace.  It was the last straw.  The tears flowed then from her eyes as she turned into his arms.  She unfurled hers to grasp at his shirt, holding on as if her life depended on it.  "You couldn't move?" he asked quietly.

            She shook her head and clung to him even tighter.  "He was all over me and I couldn't lift a finger.  I could hear his grunts, I could see him unbuckling his belt and dropping to his knees and then…" she sobbed against his chest.  "How could I not feel him on me, but I could feel him inside me?"

            "Shh…" Grissom smoothed her hair, his fingers gently tangling with her curls.  He kissed the top of her head and held her, weaving back and forth, attempting to comfort her.  "I'm here, Sara."

            It took awhile for her to calm down.  Her breathing had taken on a frightening rhythm and he was sure she was going to hyperventilate.  When it steadied, he pushed her back from his chest and grasped her shoulders lightly.  She looked up into his eyes and he could see the fear within the depths of hers.  What she'd told him was all he was going to get at that point.  Instead of asking her to continue, he pulled her close once more and guided her to her bed.  When she settled against the pillows, he pulled the coverlet over her and sat on the edge of the bed until she finally fell asleep.

            When she had, he silently picked up his cell phone from the counter and then went into the bathroom.  He dialed and the line was quickly picked up.

            "Willows."

            "It's Grissom.  I need you to do something for me."

            "Where are you?" He could hear the testiness in her voice.

            "Not now.  Just run a tox screen on the milk."

            "Why?"

            "Please just do it and then call me back as soon as you get the results."  He hung up hurriedly when he heard a noise in the living room and looked out to see what it was from.  Not seeing a change, he switched his cell phone ringer to vibrate then went back out to sit with her.  It was then that he realized the noise must have come from her when she turned onto her other side.  Glancing about the room, he realized how small it was.  The only other seats were the stools at the island counter and the chair by the computer.  How many times had he envisioned what her apartment looked like?  Well, it was never like this, never this small.  She worked unbelievable hours, but even as a man, he had better decorating skills than she did.  After looking again at her belongings it dawned on him that there wasn't anything she couldn't take with her.  For all he knew, the management furnished the bed and chairs.

            Why wouldn't she have more 'things'?  Sara was in her thirties and she'd barely accumulated anything.  To him, it was unfathomable.  There were a few photos and other small objects, but nothing of stability.  Sure she worked long hours, but this was just not normal.  With a frown, he knew he'd stumbled upon his answer.  She'd left San Francisco in a hurry and probably didn't bring her things with her.  So, where did she store it all and why hadn't she, in the last four years, brought them to Las Vegas?

            It would have to wait.  He knew she needed her rest and he wasn't about to wake her.  The only option he had was to sit on the stools or on the chair by the computer and neither would be comfortable.  Realizing this, he resigned himself to lying next to her on the bed.  He'd already done so once and fervently hoped that one, she wouldn't be mad and two, she wouldn't be scared of him there.


	6. Chapter 6

            The pictures blurred, expanding into one large gray mass.  She wiped at her burning eyes, and wished fervently that she'd slept just a few more hours.  Sleep had become increasingly hard to come by over the last few years, and the nights were punctuated with dreams; vivid, horrific dreams.  The more she learned, the more terrifying they became.

            Blinking her eyes open and shut tightly several times, her vision cleared.  The pooled bright red blood was the first thing to come into sharp focus.  This picture lay off to the side of her pile on the table.  She picked it up and stared at the victim, her platinum blonde hair, splayed limply out from her head while she laid face up, eyes open.  In her wildest dreams, Sara never could imagine what hell a woman goes through when a man took out his anger on the weaker sex.

            _Weaker sex… bullshit._

            A hand suddenly clamped down roughly on her shoulder.  More surprised than shocked, she turned to face the trespasser.

            "Sorry." A chuckle escaped between his smiling lips.

            "Damn you, Jack," she cursed.

            He glanced over her shoulder, noting the scattered pictures.  His gaze fell back to her eyes, the redness standing out in stark contrast to the whites of her pupils.  "You're exhausted, Sara.  Go home.  This isn't going anywhere," he instructed, gesturing toward the pile behind her.  "They'll be here in the morning."

            "I just –"

            He reached out, cupping her shoulder gently this time.  "No, go home.  I need you in tip-top shape tomorrow."  When he noticed her about to argue again, he touched her lips with his index finger and shook his head.

            She sighed, and then gave a resigned shrug.  "I guess that's my final cue.  All right, I'll see you in the morning then."

            Slowly, she trudged through the halls of the San Francisco PD Crime Lab, her energies nearly completely drained.  Jack was right, she really needed to get some rest, and she just hoped that sleep, and not her recurring dreams, would actually find her this time.

            As she pulled out onto Bryant Street, a brief thought of going to the supermarket flittered into her head.  It flittered out just as swiftly.  She was truly exhausted, even worn-out.  She wanted her warm bed, fluffy pillow and darkness.  The only thing she really needed was an ice-cold bottle of water, and that was waiting for her at home.

            On nights like this, the air dense with fog and a cold breeze coming off the Bay, there was nothing better than lying in her bed with a good book.  Of course, this time, she'd leave off reading the book.

            She came to a stoplight and while she waited for the light to turn green, she tugged at her trench coat, loosening it from her weight.  She hated the long coats, but they were appropriate for the cold drizzly weather they were having.  It wasn't winter yet, but it damned near felt like it.

            The light turned green and she put her foot on the accelerator a bit too quickly, and then slammed on the brakes as the car in front of her remained still.  She honked her horn, cursing once again.

            Ten minutes later, she pulled into her driveway.  The short walk to her front door felt like a ten-mile hike through the hills.  The cold bottle of water, sitting on the top shelf of her refrigerator, called to her.  She opened the door quickly, dropping her bag to the floor, but not bothering to divest herself of her coat.

            The light from the refrigerator illuminated her face as she opened the fridge door and the bottle stood just as she remembered it.  She pulled it out, opening it with a quick twist of her wrist and lifted it to her lips, stopping just as it touched her bottom lip.  She stood motionless, listening beyond the kitchen.  Thinking she'd imagined the noise in the hallway, she continued to tip the bottle and swallowed the water as it poured out.

            Her thirst now quenched, she drew in a long breath and wiped the dribble from her chin.   The bottle still held some water; so she recapped it and opened the fridge again to place it back inside.  Before she could set it on the shelf, it slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.  She looked at her fingers, stunned at their numbness.  A shuffling noise from behind her alerted her to another's presence.  She swung around to face the intruder, but the numbness that was in her fingers had branched out, setting her equilibrium off balance, and her hurried movement sent her in a dizzying spin to the floor.

            Not truly understanding what was happening to her, she reached out with her arm, grabbing at the floor in front of her, but the numbness in her fingers gave her no leverage.  She felt a sharp pain on her right hip and tossed her head to look behind and saw ominous, black eyes staring down at her.  She was roughly flipped over onto her back and could now see her assailant clearly.

            Suddenly, sheer black fright swept through her as she realized she could no longer move.

            She couldn't move, but she could see and she could hear.  The gibberish coming from his mouth wasn't understandable to her, the ringing of her ears masking his words.  His face was flushed and he continued to move her with a roughness that, given the fact that she was inexplicably unable to fight back, she felt was unwarranted.  That is until he held himself above her, both hands on either side of her head.  It was then that she understood he'd removed her jeans.

            Although she mindfully screamed, all that came out of her lungs was a whimper.  Then there it was; the first indication that he had began to violate her.  Each time he thrust forward she was pushed, inch by inch, backward on the floor.  Her breathing had become labored and came out in gasps.  She was unable to utter a word or scream, but her tears flowed freely, the only visible confirmation of the white hot terror that coursed through her veins.

            Just when she thought she would lose it, it was over.

            He pulled himself up, zipping his pants as he stood.  He leered down at her, his gaze nothing but contempt.  His eyes darted to the counter and then he reached for it.  The sound of metal, sliding against wood screeched out to her ears.  She recognized it - one of her kitchen knives.

            Light from the streetlight outside of the kitchen window glinted off of the cold steel.  Now that he'd done what he wanted, she knew in the deep recesses of her mind that he was going to kill her.  He'd taken from her the one thing she held most dear - her power.  Now he was going to take her life.

            Kneeling down between her legs, he raised his hands above his head, the flash of steel suddenly crashing down before her face.  She saw him trip on her overcoat, landing with the knife and impaling her.  His heavy weight tumbled onto her legs and she heard the man yelp.

            His eyes grew large at the sight of the knife sticking out of her chest.  In a panic-stricken rush, he retrieved it from her body and ran down the hallway.  Her last thought after seeing him disappear was that she never felt it.

            SHE DIDN'T know how much time had gone by when she awoke, but light had begun filtering in through the kitchen window.  Her eyes fluttered open, only to see the disturbing sight of the kitchen ceiling and not her bedroom.  A rush of memory flooded her brain, sending her synapses into overload.  The eyes of her attacker flashed in front of her eyes.  It was at that moment that her mind allowed her body to respond ­– a gasp of breath, then an ear-splitting scream.  Tears began to flow freely and she realized she still couldn't move.

            At least not well.

            Minutes followed her panic attack before she attempted to sit up.  It was to no avail.  Her body wouldn't respond to her mind's commands.  Instead, she rolled onto her stomach then pulled her knees up beneath her.  The energy she spent on this action took all of her strength.  Attempting to stand was out of the question.

            She raggedly drew in several deep breaths and taking a moment to glance quickly at her chest, the unexpected absence of blood from her stab wound somewhat shocked her.  She saw it go in, she saw him take it back.  He wouldn't have left if it hadn't.  She looked again, but still there was no blood and no pain.

            Slowly, she pulled herself along the floor, passing by her jeans, now tossed beneath the dining table.  Her crawling was slow and required her to stop and catch her breath often, her tears periodically appearing as images assailed her memory.

            Finally, she reached her bedroom and felt a rush of adrenaline at her success.  She crawled the next few short feet and began to climb up on the bed, but her exertions took their toll on her traumatized body and she fell to the floor with a crash, landing on her arm.  A cry of pain emitted from deep within and she looked to the source of the pain.  Small droplets of blood colored her white blouse underneath her arm and against the side of her breast.

            He hadn't missed.  She just didn't feel it.

            She glanced away, sniffling in her defeat and that's when a glimmer of light caught her eye from under the bed.  She looked deeper, adjusting her tired eyes to the even darker area underneath her bed, to see the barely visible portion of a knife handle, stuck up into the box springs and into the mattress.  She blinked in disbelief.

            Her assailant had left his weapon behind.  Coldness filled her heart and froze her tears before they could fall again.  She knew now her attack had not been random – she'd been chosen.

*********************************************

            She hadn't asked for the vivid memories, but the previous night's confession to her boss and the one person she looked up to above anyone else, had stirred emotions she'd long thought buried.  The fear of being found out as a fraud, an imposter, was too much for her mind to handle and she'd conjured up all the memories in a rush.

             She contributed her calm reliving of events to the feeling of Grissom's warmth next to her on her bed.  She couldn't say what kind of shape she'd be in if he wasn't there beside her.

            The pull of the blanket covering her and a tentative hand at her shoulder alerted her to his waking.  If she were a believer in telepathy, she'd believe that her thoughts of him woke him.

            The day was going to be one of the longest days of her life.  Grissom had questions and today, she'd have to answer them.  She just hoped that the truth wouldn't hinder what little friendship remained between them.


End file.
